


Fastidious

by amyfortuna



Series: 2015 Season of Kink (Card 1) [7]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Come Eating, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4870489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barahir is very focused on cleaning up messes, both his own and Finrod's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fastidious

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nisiedraws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nisiedraws/gifts), [Sath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sath/gifts).



> This fulfils my Season of Kink square for wet/dirty. 
> 
> Thank you, nisiedraws, for the glorious, glorious inspiration for this fic, and to sath for sharing it with me.

"I'll go to my knees for you, I'll do anything you want or ask of me." Barahir was panting, helpless under Finrod's long lingering kisses, squirming beneath him in the most enticing of ways, and Finrod, for a moment, wanted nothing more than to have him, there and then, but the boy, just eighteen, was a virgin yet, as could be attested by his relative inexperience at kissing and his desperation, almost on the edge from just a few kisses. 

No, time enough for that another day. "Take your clothes off then," Finrod said, moving off him so Barahir could get up. He rose from the bed, stretched almost idly - so the boy was not entirely innocent, after all - cast a ravishing glance at Finrod behind him, and began to strip, efficiently and quickly, not making a show of it but nevertheless proving by his very unselfconsciousness a tempting treat. 

Finrod sat back against the headboard, legs spread, and undid his trousers, taking his cock out. He stroked himself a few times, leisurely, while Barahir undressed, neatly folding his clothes and putting them on a nearby chair. He liked that Barahir was so fastidious; it reminded him of himself. 

Barahir hesitated for a moment, looking over at Finrod. "Come here," Finrod said, reaching out a hand. Barahir took it, and was reeled in slowly, until he was climbing over Finrod, knees settling at either side of Finrod's hips and leaning in for another kiss. Finrod's cock brushed his thighs, and Barahir moaned into the kiss, almost trembling with need. 

"Touch yourself," Finrod said, breaking the kiss and running his hand through Barahir's hair, grabbing a handful of it and tugging gently. Barahir's eyes fluttered shut, and his hand dropped to his own stiff cock, pointing straight up at his chest, large enough that one hand was, after a moment, not enough, and he brought his other hand in to aid as well. 

This at least Barahir was well-practiced at, and his hands flew over his erection as Finrod watched him, cool appraisal in his eyes belied by the hard prick that nudged between Barahir's thighs. The boy was beautiful - long delicate dark eyelashes framing eyes of deep blue, thick eyebrows, a generous head of hair that lay in waves over his head, sun-browned skin contrasting with dark rose lips and a pink tongue caught between his teeth as he worked himself. He had no beard but Finrod knew by now that Edain beards were variable, and could not be expected until the boy was in his early twenties at least. But the promise of it was there in the light dusting of hair across his chest, dark like the hair on his head, and the rich crop of curls at his groin. 

Barahir's eyes came open, looking at Finrod, enjoying the audience. "My lord, I - I'm close, I want to -" he breathed, and Finrod could hardly restrain himself from either thrusting up and taking him there and then, or leaning down and sucking him to completion. 

He did neither, only smiled a sharp, hungry sort of smile, and said, "Then do. But don't spill on my clothes." 

Barahir gasped assent, hands flying, and came, directing the seed onto his chest. There was quite a lot of it, all over his chest and his hands. Some had reached his chin and without thinking about it he put out his tongue and licked it up. 

That was the last straw; Finrod brought one of Barahir's dripping hands to his cock. "Touch me, suck me, do whatever you think will bring me pleasure," Finrod said, and Barahir immediately bent to be able to take Finrod's cock in his mouth, adjusting his position over Finrod slightly. His erection had hardly diminished and swung beneath him as he bent forward. 

The boy was a natural at this, and for a moment Finrod wondered whether Barahir actually was a virgin after all, but then all thought was rendered useless in the face of his cock in Barahir's mouth, tongue moving over the head of his prick, probing into his slit, swirling all around, and finally taking him deeper. 

Finrod's fingers wound their way into Barahir's hair, and soon he was setting a fast and hard pace in and out of the boy's throat, forgetful of his inexperience, knowing only how long it had been since he had encountered one so utterly willing to yield to him like this, so needy and desperate for him. 

"Too long - ah - Beo-Barahir," he found himself groaning at one point but Barahir made no move to show that he'd ever heard him, concentrating as he was on the task at hand. Somehow he'd avoided gagging; Finrod wasn't being all that careful so perhaps Barahir was simply devoid of a gag reflex. 

When he finally came, he had no breath left to give warning, but simply tugged hard at Barahir's hair, and Barahir raised his head, all but letting Finrod's cock slip from his mouth, and Finrod painted his face entirely without meaning to but unable to do anything but find it wholly arousing. If he could have come again at the sight, he would have done. 

Seed spilled over Barahir's lips, across his cheek, one droplet nearly hitting him in the eye. His hands were dripping with come again, Finrod's this time rather than his own, and he sat up, one hand holding Finrod's cock, primly preserving it from messing up his clothes, and licked at the come on the other hand like it was cream, that pink tongue darting out, a smouldering look on his face. 

Finrod's hands fell limply from Barahir's hair as he panted and shivered out the last waves of sensation, one final pulse making its way out of his cock, sliding down it only to be caught by Barahir's hand, neatly gathered up, and pressed into his mouth with the rest like it was the last sweet in the jar. 

Finrod tucked himself back into his trousers, and reached for Barahir's cock. "I know well the vigour of the Edain," he said, "and you are ripe yet for another round. Lie back, and I will see if I am able to produce another mess for you to clean up." 

Barahir dropped gracefully flat on the bed, a little white still showing on his nose, and at the corner of his mouth, and yielded himself up to Finrod's hands.


End file.
